


Catalystic

by AlphaStarr



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Dom!Dave, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Post-SBurb AU, Self-Loathing, Sub!John, Voices in John's head
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-06
Updated: 2012-09-06
Packaged: 2017-11-13 17:27:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/505948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlphaStarr/pseuds/AlphaStarr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nothing's ever going to be the same ever again.<br/>Unfortunately for John, the truth doesn't change. Fortunately, Dave doesn't either.</p><p>Light D/S written for a prompt I found on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catalystic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fujikawaii10346 (fujibutts)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fujibutts/gifts).



> I am not a good D/S writer. I apologize. Originally published on my Tumblr at: http://alpha-starr.tumblr.com/post/30228817244/fujikawaii10346-give-me-one-instance-wherein

Things weren't ever the same after you won the Game.

Returning to a life of mundane reality after the rough-and-tumble, constant danger of Sburb was a surprisingly easy transition. It was borderline frightening how, on the day after you saved the entire universe, you woke up, ate cereal, and took a bus to school to attend class, only to return home, do homework, eat, and sleep-- just like every other teenager your age. Almost as if the Game had never even happened. Almost as if you were never a god. Almost as if you'd never defeated Death.

Almost.

Things weren't ever the same after you won the Game.

You lived with four more people than you were used to, for one. Your Dad, who had no recollection of the game at all, had spontaneously decided to contact a woman he'd met once on the street. They were married shortly afterwards, she and her two daughters moved in to your house. Your sister(!?!?), Jane, baked the wedding cake.

It was nice, you guessed, having a Mom, even if she was kind of drunk a lot. It was definitely nice getting to see Rose every day, that's for sure. But it was still different. Majorly different.

Even the way people looked at you at school was different. Like they knew you'd done something to change all of their lives, almost. Maybe they were just picking up weird vibes from you, but you'd never gone home with a black eye since.

And, though you had no control over it anymore, you could feel it when a storm was about to come. Rose had developed the uncanny ability to see in the dark. Jade, though no longer part dog, had a unique perception of depth and distance that made her a _perfect_ markswoman.

Everything had changed. Nothing would ever be the same again.

Except maybe for the bright red text perpetually on your computer screen.

Dave had changed, too-- tougher, older, wiser-- but the miles of red words awaiting you on your computer once you got home, rambling into nothing never changed. He still wrote terrible raps. He still rambled off into long metaphors. He still criticized your taste in movies. He still made you laugh and smile, even though he was miles away.

You'd asked him about how he'd felt later. If he'd gotten any side effects from reaching godhood that still lingered on in his life.

"well yeah kinda," he'd written. "i can like hear a thousand clocks pulsing in sync like theyre tracks on a bunch of spinning records. but tbh ive always been able to hear it. i got sicknasty rhythm all up in here bro. steady as a motherfucking heartbeat."

You kind of liked that about him. He was constant, like the never-ending, never-changing flow of time. As far as you were concerned, as long as Dave was around, it was like nothing had ever changed. 

And then, one day, he told you that he was going to come up to Washington. Up to _Washington_. For a whole _summer_.

That was a change, too, but certainly a very welcome one. You'd talked about going over to each other's houses when the weather got unbearable before, and though you didn't actually think it would happen, it was.

You waited on the front porch of your house as Dad went to pick up your summer visitors from the airport-- Jade, Jake, and Bec had decided it would be a good idea to visit, too-- and you were almost ready to explode with excitement.

You almost had an aneurysm when you saw Dave for the first time after the Game.

Because man, had he ever changed.

The three years you'd spent in-game had been overwritten by three years of normalcy, and spending three years strifing with (both of) his brothers instead of derping around on some meteor had... obvious results. Dave was as tall and slim as he'd ever been, but you could see it in the way he walked-- he was _strong_. He was _sturdy_.

He was, as much as you were afraid to admit it, attractive.

"Sup, enjoying the view?" his tiny, hardly noticeable smile betrayed the fact it was a joke.

"Oh no, you've caught me," you tried to laugh, attempting to pass it off as a humorous situation. Just shrug it off, you can do this. "You are attractive. I am attracted to you."

"I knew you'd be," he's obviously still kidding. "I'm attracting derps of all varieties up in here. Harley couldn't stop flirting with me the entire way up."

"Lies!" Jade exclaimed, playfully pushing your shoulder on her way into your house. "Lies and slander!"

"You want me, Harley. Don't deny it!" he hollered back at her, cupping his hand over his mouth to increase the volume of his voice.

Jade only answered with a laugh.

Your stomach felt kind of funny then, sort of like something was sinking in it (ugh, you TOLD Jane that you didn't want any cake), so you went out to the car to help get some of the bags. You almost shot your foot when you'd accidentally dropped one of Jake's, and now almost all of his clothes have some sort of hole in them or another.

Your Dad locked every firearm in the house in the basement after that incident. Even Mom's, much to her chagrin.

You really, really hate guns.

That night, you have an immensely shitty dream. The likes of which, mind you, you have every so often. Nothing too horrible, just a bunch of clowns heckling you in your head, telling you the truth about yourself. Sometimes the truth hurts, but that's okay, you try to reassure yourself, because you need to know it. Everyone else does. You've just got to accept it and _oh god why can't you just get over it it's been fucking forever why now why tonight_

"Hey, bro," Dave turns around in his sleeping bag, apparently woken by your _stupid stupid stupid_ inability to sleep. "You okay?"

"Yeah," you answer, hating the way you _can't stop your voice from wavering why is it doing that you're tougher than this you're such a dumbass you need to go die_

Dave's sturdy hand falls on your shoulder, and you know he can feel you. You're trembling like a leaf in the fickle autumn wind, and _you're so weak, you're on the precipice of falling off the branch like the tears threaten to fall from your eyes and oh god how is he not recoiling in disgust_

"Whatever you say, man," he answers like he can't feel you trembling under his fingertips. You feel the bed creak with his weight as he sits down next to you and puts his whole arm around your shoulder _how is he doing that, isn't he afraid to catch all the loser on you, why is he being so nice, he knows the full extent of your dumbness_

Your arms fall around his waist, almost afraid he'll push you away. But he doesn't, because of course, he's Dave. He's your best friend, how stupid are you even? He's never left you, he's never gonna leave you. He trusted you to be his friendleader all trough the Game, so of course you trust him not to leave you.

His hand pats your shoulder as you cry quietly into the place where his neck and shoulder meet, not even flinching when you accidentally wipe your running nose on the shirt he was wearing. He mumbles something into the top of your head, but you don't hear it. Still, the constant murmur into your hair feels like a steady thrum that wraps you in a blanket of comfort.

You realized in that moment just how much you love Dave.

You slept better that night than you ever have before in your whole life.

It's impossible to hold your feelings inside you for the whole summer. You just take one look at him and fwhoosh! There goes your heart, off in a whirlwind of overwhelming bro feelings. Your friendship runs deeply, probably further than you'd ever realized before.

He sleeps in your bed now. You aren't going to say that you don't have really sucky dreams anymore, but when you do, Dave is right there with you to help you sleep again.

"I'm through with your bullshit," he tells you one night, and you feel like you're going to break in that moment-- no, not Dave, not the only sense of stability you've got, the only one you'll ever have, oh my god no

"Hey, calm down," Dave's strong arms right your quivering form with a single squeeze. "I'm not taking any of that tonight. You are going to tell me what shit keeps getting you up at fuck-all-AM in the morning, and we're going to fix it. Okay?"

"What?" you breathe, trying to make your voice as sturdy, as tangible as possible. You're okay, you swear it, just as long as he'll be here to tie you down so the clowns can't get you. Dave is way overreacting. You're just some _big dumb baby who can't even handle the truth_. "Nothing's wrong."

"You feel the intense desire to wake up in the middle of the night, crying, because nothing is wrong?" it's too dark to see him, but you can tell he's quirking his eyebrow. "Like fucking hell I'm gonna believe that. Don't lie to me."

"I'm fine," you insist, gripping his waist just a little tighter.

His hands meet yours for a moment before literally prying them off his midriff. You almost launch yourself at him again, but his hands hold you in place.

"Don't move," he orders, bringing his face so close to yours, you can see the dark, reddish tint of his irises even in the little light you have. You lose the will to fight. "I'm going to say this again. Don't. Lie. To. Me. What keeps getting you up in the dead of night? I swear to god, I'll fight the monsters in your closet myself if I have to. Whatever it is, it's safe with me. It's like the fucking Declaration of Independence all up in here, and I am your six-foot, concrete vault with DNA access only."

He's serious. He wouldn't use that type of analogy unless he were.

"I..." you try to say, frozen in place by his darkened gaze, illuminated only by the moon through your curtained bedroom window. His skin looks paler in the moonlight, you note, and you lean in just a little, just ~~wanting~~ needing to be a little closer...

Next thing you know, you've kissed him.

You just kiss him, and kiss him, and kiss him until the tears the are falling down your eyes stop and he finally presses back, and his arms pull you into his lap and then he kisses you, too. Sweet, tender, gentle where you know you only deserve rough, hateful, disgusted.

You pull away from him after a few minutes, reluctantly detaching your lips from his. Dave's lips follow yours, striking forth to lay pecks on your mouth, one for every inch further away you move.

One of his hands leaves your waist, and you're afraid that you'd made him upset by _doing it wrong, you dumb homo tool, just go die in a shithole because you just royally screwed up the best friendship you've ever had and you wimp, you're crying again_. It meets one of your hands instead, lacing your fingers together and squeezing it like a quick pulse beat.

You start breathing again.

"What woke you up?" he asks again, much more quietly, his cheek grazing yours.

"I had a crappy dream," you admit. "It's dumb and I'm overreacting. They were only telling me the truth."

"They?"

"The clowns," you bring your body closer to his.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Dave sighs, stroking your hair beneath his fingertips. "Not those fuckers. What'd they say to you?"

"Just stuff I already know," you answer, already beginning to fall asleep in his arms. "I'm dumb and I'm a loser and stuff like that--"

His grip on you tightens, "Shut up. Don't say that."

You decidedly snap your mouth closed.

"You're fucking perfect," he says, and you don't believe him. You are about to protest before you remember that he told you to be quiet. "You have no idea how perfect you are. Fuck, I--"

He cuts himself off by pressing another kiss to your lips, one that catches you off guard. You melt into it soon enough, though, like he's oxygen and you're drowning.

That was when you realized that you _really_ loved him. 

You slept soundly, falling into dreamland as Dave kissed you, over and over and over again.

You and Dave sort of, kind-of became unofficial boyfriends after that. It was a lot like being bros, except just a lot more kissing and hugging and cuddling, probably way more than you deserved. It was like Dave didn't even realize he was becoming less cool by the minute, the more he hung out with you. 

But you didn't want him to stop. You could never want him to stop. You want everything he's got to offer you, his love, his body, his affection. It's selfish _and you're a horrible person for wanting that, you don't even deserve what you have now_ , but you want him.

You let him pin you to the bed as you kiss, your legs wrapped around his waist as he kisses you into oblivion. You can feel his tongue slip past your lips, tangling with yours as he embarks on an epic journey into your mouth. You can feel his heartbeat pounding against yours, like your very hearts are engaging in conversation. You can feel the hardness of his erection pressing against yours as you, too, harden, though you aren't worth the pleasure you're feeling.

He grinds his hips against yours and you briefly wonder what the fuck you're doing with a guy like this.

"Dave," you pant, lips moist and flushed from certain activities. "Dave, what are you doing?"

"Trying to engage in sloppy makeouts," he explains and you sigh at him. He doesn't even get it.

"No," you answer. "What are you doing with me?"

He could do so much better than you.

"Trying to show my sweetheart I love him," he drawls, biting your neck gently and sucking the spot, where you deserve to have the flesh ripped away from your throat instead.

But, ah... it feels so good. You let out a quiet whimper, already feeling hotter than you've any right to be. You need to find some way to make Dave feel your gratitude, to make him feel the way you do. You hand reaches down to cup his crotch, trying to stroke the lump in his pants. His fingers then make a query towards your fly, but you stop him.

A huge loser like you isn't worth him soiling his hands.

"You don't want it?" he asks, his breath hot and heavy in your ear. It feels cold in his absence.

"I do," you reply. You'd have to be crazy not to, at this point. "And I really, really appreciate it. A lot. I just... I just don't think you should waste your time on doing that for me."

Dave just gives you this look, and you're afraid for a minute that he's mad at you. You almost heave a sigh of relief when he finally speaks again:

"Take off your clothes," he orders, and without a second question, you begin to strip yourself completely. You trust him, he's got to have something for you to do. You are perhaps a little hesitant to show your whole body, _you scrawny, bony nerd_ , but Dave wouldn't just leave you because you were ugly... right?

"I'll be right back," he assures you, pressing a kiss to your face and _oh god he is, isn't he?_ "Stay there. I'll be back in three seconds, I promise."

It is actually five aching seconds that you count until you see Dave again, but as far as you're concerned, you're lucky he came back for you at all. You probably counted wrong anyways, _you stupid fuckass, so dumb you can't even count_ , especially not when every second felt like a forever and you couldn't breathe.

"Told you I'd be back in three seconds," you can feel his smirk press into your forehead.

"Yeah," you answer, picking his eyes out of the abyss of his dark shades to meet them. "I should've believed you."

He leans in to kiss you again, which is more than you deserve for your indiscretions against him. You want him to correct you, you're afraid to find, which is totally _sick wrong gross, you stupid fucker_. But you can't deny it to yourself. You

"Want to be punished," you murmur to yourself. Fuck, that's embarrassing.

You feel Dave draw away from you, just a little-- _shit, he wasn't supposed to hear that, you fucking idiot, he's gonna know you're a weirdo_ \-- and you can feel the quirk of his eyebrow more than you see it.

"You want to be punished," he repeats slowly, as if he's trying to understand just what you said.

You avert your eyes.

"Don't play that game with me," his firm arm stiffens at your back. "That was a question. I'd appreciate it if you answered it."

"Yes," you can't just ignore a direct order to answer. Not now.

"Good boy," he purrs, beginning to stroke your hair a little. You are a little surprised by how easily he falls into the dominant persona as he adds, "I'll still have to punish you, but I'll go light on you for admitting it, all right, baby?"

You cast your eyes into your lap as you quietly hummed, "Mmmhmmm."

His strong, gentle hands turn you over his knee, and you squirm in eagerness, inadvertently grinding your half-hard dick into his thigh. Oh god, you need this, you're finally getting the punishment you deserve, and you silently thank Dave for doing this, for playing along with your sick desires.

"I'm gonna make it perfectly clear this is a punishment, though," he murmurs into your ear. "I ain't stopping 'til your ass is as pink as a fucking peach. So fuckin' sweet-looking, fresh-picked and full. Makes you want to do nothing more than sink into it."

You moan in anticipation as his hand caresses your bare bottom, softly squeezing your bare flesh. The first hit feels all the harder for it, his firm, callused palm coming down against your ass with a smacking sound.

"Ah!" you can't help but gasp, surprised by the sudden hit. Your left buttock stings where Dave made contact, but it stings so good. The warmth of his hand against your bare skin is getting you hot; the pain allows you to forgive yourself for enjoying it.

Without warning his hand comes down again, this time on the right side. You make a quiet groan. He replies by hitting you again, harder than before, back on the left. It feels so good, to finally be punished, to lay prostrate before Dave right where you belong. You almost cry.

"Shhh, you're a good boy," he whispers to you, rubbing your exposed derriere comfortingly. "You're such a good boy for taking your punishment like this. I might have to reward you after this."

He hits your ass again, making you squeak softly. You're going to try to make as little noise as possible, you decide, until the next hit comes and you can't suppress your moan. His fingers soothingly rub circles into your butt cheeks and he's there with another rush of praise, like the more you show it hurts, the more he's aware of it and the more he wants to make you feel good for taking your punishment.

His fingers injure and heal alternatively as he continues to punish you. He tells you how good you look on his lap, your blossoming bottom pinking attractively. You don't know when he's going to stop. You aren't sure you want him to. Your entire head seems to float in and out of your mind, experiencing an odd combination of both pain and pleasure, especially when his fingers slip into your crack on what you're not completely sure is an accident.

He at last settles into just comforting you for a long time, "You were such a good boy for taking your punishment. You did great. You were perfect, so perfect. I'm gonna have to reward you."

"You don't have to," you whisper, shifting in his lap once again. You are pretty sure that you've stained Dave's sweatpants with your worthless precum, which would probably negate any sort of reward you might've earned.

"I want to," he stubbornly insists, giving your behind a tender squeeze. You can feel every nerve ending tingle.

He pulls you up so that you're seated in his lap again, the full weight of your body making your ass ache, before he alleviates your pain just a little by shifting to that you're leaning forward onto him, your lips locked in an intimate kiss.

One of his hands holds both of your wrists behind your back, the palms of your hands facing outwards until you curl them shyly into your palm in a loose fist. The other hand appears to be wrapping a tough, sturdy cloth around your wrists, a substance neither smooth as silk nor rough as rope. They're Dave's bandages, you can already tell, the ones that he wears around his arms when he spars to improve circulation, clean as can be. He'd just spent all morning washing them.

With your hands out of commission, his are free to wander where they may. The fingers of his left hand embrace your erection, while those on his right caress your waist.

He kisses your mouth and you fall to pieces on top of him, his erection sitting beneath yours as your legs come around his waist. His impeccably timed rhythm and the tiny flicks of his wrist almost bring you there already, which is completely unacceptable-- you shouldn't be feeling this good, especially when Dave isn't.

You plant your face in his shoulder and try not to feel the guilt.

"What's wrong?" he asks, slowing his strokes on both your back and your, ahem, front. _Shit, you pansy, did you seriously start crying? Now, of all times?_

"Nothing," you answer. Your voice sounds too quiet, even in your own head.

"Bullshit," he replies. "Don't lie to me."

"Nothing's wrong," you wish your arms were free so you could at least hug him. "I'm just being stupid again. Like always."

He surprises you when he rolls you off his body completely, and you fall limply to your own bed. Confused, and perhaps more than just a smidgen hurt, you look at him from your awkward position.

He stands and removes his own shirt (wow look at those abs) and gets out of his pants, exposing the entirety of his body. As a finishing touch, he flicks off his shades (still the same ones you'd gotten him years ago) and drops them on the nightstand beside your own specs. Undiluted by dark glass, their vibrant intensity takes you aback, and you've found you can't tear your eyes away from his.

"I like to think I've got pretty good taste in shit," he remarks, staring you down. His form is still a little blurry, but you can see the red of his irises still. "Like music and movies or whatever. You can insult that all you want. But nobody criticizes my taste in boyfriends."

He takes another step forward to emphasize his point, "Nobody."

You want to close your eyes. You can't.

"Because I'm Dave motherfucking Strider," he continues, advancing on you still. "And I wouldn't settle for anything less than perfect."

His hand rests on your face and he strokes it reverently, far more carefully and worshipfully than he ought to. He helps you sit up against your pillow and the headboard, your palms spread into the sheets, still bound together. 

His hands glide over your chest and trail your whole body down to where your hipbones protrude and lead down to your crotch. He traces the lines that your body makes, and you bite your lip. It's just so hot.

His fingers make the journey to the insides of your thighs, plotting a course down to your still-sore derriere. They prod the tender flesh for a moment, making you shudder in pained delight.

He presses his nose to your collarbone and nuzzles his way down to your stomach, the tickle of his hair making you giggle softly as he pauses to kiss the skin beneath his lips for a moment. This you are okay with. Dave is just playing with you, teasing the place where your thighs and buttocks meet and making your whole torso feel warm and loved with his kisses. It's an odd combination of affectionate and sexual, but not a bad one.

"Good boy," he coos at you, still gently petting your body. One of his hands comes up to stroke your face. "Now, I'm gonna have to punish you for callin' yourself stupid. I warned you about the lies bro, I told you, dog. It's ironic that the thing that got you into trouble is also gonna get you out."

His amusement is almost tangible. One of his hands pumps his very filling-looking cock and the anticipation of what was going to happen next almost kills you. At last, Dave rests his dick, flushed as red as his text and eight inches long, on your swollen lips. 

You part them and move to take the tip into your mouth, but Dave backs away and you could cry. His other hand leaves your thigh to card through your hair, something to soothe and relax you.

"Slow down there," he orders, pushing the hair on your forehead back. "Lick it."

You comply, extending your tongue as far as it'll go, wanting to just take the whole thing in your mouth and not risk completely fucking up. You have no finesse with your tongue. He knows that.

You lap clumsily at the head of his cock, your tongue caressing the silken skin. You're a complete mess, slobbering sloppily all over his slit, trying to get just a taste of his dick. You want it, hot and heavy in your mouth, weighing down your tongue with his arousal. You've seen enough blowjobs in pornos to know how they're supposed to go, how good it's supposed to feel if you let him just fuck your throat, using you like the worthless waste receptacle you are.

The hand in your hair tightens and he moves closer to you. He doesn't even have to give the order before you're sucking the tip of his cock, your mouth as open as you can make it and trying to draw him in further. You're probably _terrible at it, and he's only giving you this much to appease you and_ \--

"Hey," he says, cutting off your stream of thought. "You trust me?"

You nod.

"Close you eyes," he says, and you do. "Just relax for me."

You try to make yourself as relaxed as possible, almost going limp into the sheets. His erection presses further into your mouth, and _oh_. He sinks deeper and deeper into your throat, and you can hardly breathe as he pushes back further and further, until he touches so far, you have to fight your gag reflex to keep him in.

"You okay?" he sounds concerned. He's withdrawing his cock from your mouth and you reluctantly allow it to happen, your convulsing throat thanking you gratuitously-- _great job, idiot. Way to epically fail at the sex thing._

You cough and splutter, your saliva still clinging to his dick as you proceed to make a mess of yourself. Ugh, you're so gross. How can he even put up with you?

"Aw, shit, man," he rubs your back, trying to make you calm down, or at least stop choking. "That was a fucking bad idea, specially if it was your first time giving a blow job. Don't know what I was thinking. Won't happen again."

You whimper at him, "But... I wanted it..."

"Next time," he assures you, kissing your messy lips. "It's for your own good."

Your eyes flutter open just the tiniest amount, "Sorry."

"Don't be," he accentuates this with a quick, light swat on your rear, followed by some gentle rubbing. "There's still plenty of fun we can have."

And then he shifts, rubbing at your still-tender entrance with the tip of his finger, the rest of his hand splayed over your thigh. He flickers in the light for a second, and you feel just the briefest of coolnesses as he flashsteps away for a fraction of a moment and returns, bearing a jar of vaseline and a condom.

Oh. OH. You take a deep breath in and relax as best as you can, your still-bound arms slouching as you cant your hips upward to make this easier for him. It's not as if you haven't ever done anything to your butt before, when you've thought about being fucked, and it makes things easier to take this way. That's just it.

He murmurs sweet, rambling nothings into your ear as his slicked fingers rub up your crack, all the way down to your taint, heading back to oil the area around your entrance. His index finger quests into your passage and he softly pets your hair with his other hand, still muttering vaguely praiseful phrases in your ear.

His digit moves inside you, and you breathe in sharply.

His quiet stream of "You're doing great, babe, just relax, I've got you" makes you melt into a haze, you vision fogged into nothing except Dave's voice, Dave's hands on you, Dave, Dave, Dave.

He puts another finger in you, sinking inward and brushing against your inner walls. This is the most you've ever had in yourself; you gasp. You've masturbated with two of your own fingers before, but yours are thinner and so much bonier than Dave's. You feel him curve his digits inside you, questing in your passage as if looking for a secret button.

It surprises you when he actually finds one, sending sparks all up and down your body.

"Oh!" you moan softly, pushing back against his fingers. "Dave..."

"Feeling good?" you can hear his smirk as much as you can see it through your half-lidded eyes.

"Ye- yeah," you groan as he presses it again, this time lingering to rub it back and forth. "Ah, shiiiiiiiit..."

"You look so fucking hot like this," he whispers into your skin, kissing it between phrases. "You're reaching ludicrous levels of caleficiency. Fire wishes it could burn at these temperatures. The sun ain't got jack shit on you."

You'd argue back, but listening to him compliment you is peculiarly arousing, and then he presses your prostate again and your mind has flown away. His fingers stretch and open you up, preparing you for more to come, occasionally wandering back to that button to send a quick shot of pleasure up your spine.

He pops a third finger into you, a most unpleasant stretching feeling, but he kisses your lips, entangling your tongue with his. You make a quiet, discomforted whimper into his mouth, but he just caresses your face and reassures you.

"Such a good boy, taking my prepping so good," he coos at you, kissing you again. "It'll get better soon, baby, I promise."

You kiss until it does.

His fingers move inside you, all three of them, spreading your entrance until you can take him. He pumps the triad of digits in and out of you, mimicking the actions that you presume he will enact later with an entirely different appendage. He brushes that spot on occasion, a pleasant sensation that only adds to the delicious fullness, fulfillment, affection that Dave seems determined to make you feel.

"You ready?" he asks, and you can only nod.

He pulls his fingers from your ass as slowly as he can, careful to avoid hurting you. You are uncomfortably empty-feeling, but you know that's going to end soon enough. He rips open a condom package with his teeth, and you can't help but find that particular expression attractive. 

It takes no time at all to roll on the little latex covering, but you get the feeling that the languid strokes spreading vaseline along Dave's length are exclusively for your viewing pleasure. The fact that he took the time to do something like that speaks volumes, and you give a little shudder in anticipation.

He grips your waist with his clean hand and holds your hip with the other one, wiping the vaseline on your body and then, he seats himself in your body, slowly pushing himself in and stopping every inch or two to give your hip a reassuring squeeze.

"Dave," you smile at him in a half-addled daze of pleasure.

The intensity of his eyes threatens to take you over again as his meet yours again, the obvious passion behind vermilion irises burning into your own retinas.

He doesn't say anything. The soft smile on his face says it all for him.

His body makes contact with yours at last, and your feel the heaviness of his balls pressing against your buttocks. You breathe in the fogged, warm air, before shifting your hips just a little. God, you want him.

He withdraws just a smidge, the thickness of the vaseline providing just enough grip to make a delicious, thick friction between your passage and his cock.

"Daaaaaaaaave," you moan out loud, wishing your hands were free so you could clutch him closer to you.

"Mmmhmm, yeah," he groans back, stroking a line up from your waist to your chest and circling back down to hold you again. "Sing my name like that, baby."

"Ah, Dave!" you try to lean up to kiss him as he pushes himself back into you. He claims your lips quickly before breaking off to re-attach to the base of your neck. He bites down and you cry again, "Dave!!"

He sucks the skin of your neck where he bit it, accompanying it with a couple of tender, apologetic kisses. His hands are almost all over you, stroking your sides as he thrusts in long, slow sweeps into your passage. He doesn't hit your prostate on every thrust, but you get that it might be intentional-- it's making you hotter and more desperate by the second. You whine in the back of your throat, trying to press your hips into him just a little more.

He grunts and complies with a particularly strong thrust, one that makes your back arch with its intensity. The recoil of his thrust spreads outward from your core, like the epicenter of an earthquake. He moves again, and you are hit with the aftershock. Your hips chase his backwards, not wanting him to leave you.

"You realize I have to pull out to thrust in?" Dave chuckles at you, and you find yourself smiling back.

"Yeah," you answer, fidgeting your hips again. Dave makes another sharp thrust, apparently unable to handle the sexiness of your wriggling lower half, and you bite your lip in turn. Shit, this is good.

He draws back, holding down your hips and pushing forward once more, not quite as slowly as he was before. Continuing to fuck you at this faster rate, his rhythm is steady, precise, hardly changing at all.

"Mmmmmhn," you groan, your wrists going weak. "Dave... I can't keep myself up anymore..."

"Then let yourself fall," he murmurs, and your lips collide again as you bend your elbows uncomfortably, crashing on your frail wrists.

Until Dave catches you, holding you up himself with only his arms, the momentary discomfort from crashing unexpectedly totally gone. He undoes the bandages wound about your wrists at last, and your arms swing around his neck, finally able to hold him close as his hips rut against yours, pushing your back into the pillows that still prop you up.

"Oh god-- Dave," you beg, your hips canting and twitching to meet his as best as you can. You cheeks are flushed red, almost as red as Dave's Pesterchum text, and you're breathing heavily-- you aren't sure how much longer this can last. Already, precum gathers at the tip of your neglected cock. You're going to cum without having ever touched it if he keeps this up.

"What's the matter?" he whispers to you, caressing your side lovingly. "You need me?"

"Yes..." you pant, writhing and rolling your whole figure into his. "God, yes."

"Then I'll give it to you," Dave purrs almost ferally, quickening his strokes and bringing your hips down over him all the harder, making hand-shaped imprints on either side of your waist. "I'm gonna give it all to you."

His hips are slamming into yours, and you moan wantonly, just wanting "moreharderohgodyes _please_ dave", and he's losing his rhythm now, the more erratic thrusts aiming for and pressing up against the pleasure button inside you. His hand takes your erection, finally providing it the attention it deserves as he strokes you, quickly, firmly, hard. Wave after wave after glorious wave of ecstasy wash over you, and you're so close, you're almost there, and you can feel every muscle in you body tighening and tensing...

Dave moans your name out loud, and you feel your ass fill with hot, wet semen. Then, you're lost, expending your own load entirely over your chests.

You just stay there in that position for a few seconds, Dave still buried balls-deep in you and his hands still on your torso. Then, he gently pulls out of you, leaving you feeling empty, yet satisfied. You clench your passage, feeling Dave's cum squoosh inside you.

"Shit," he remarks, rolling off the obviously torn latex. "The condom broke. I'm clean."

"Me too," you answer, smiling up at him dazedly. Your hands rub the flat plane of his shoulder, apologizing for the blunt nails that had been digging into it just seconds before.

"Cool, looks like there's no problem, then," Dave replies before sitting up in your bed. "I'm gonna go wash this shit off, all right, babe? You're welcome to come with me."

"Shower?" you ask, still not quite down from your orgasmic high. He smirks, winging you into his arms as he carries you to the bathroom.

"Yeah, you're gonna want to wash this off before it gets gross. Cmon."

He handles you like a porcelain doll, getting you in the shower and washing you like you didn't know how to do it yourself. It's nice being taken care of like that, you have to admit, so you try to do the same. He seems not to enjoy it, though, so you stick with washing his hair while he's busy scrubbing your drying semen off his abs, and then you get out and dry each other.

He insists on carrying you back to bed.

You fall into your sheets, fortunately not too badly dirtied by your previous escapade. Dave helps himself in next, his body curling around yours protectively.

"Dave," you finally say, pausing for a little. "I love you."

"John," he answers as his hold on you tightens. "John Egbert, I love you, too."

You drift off into the abyss of exhaustion after that, and you don't dream that night. Or the night after that. Or any night for the rest of summer.

Not when Dave's arms wrap around you, like a knight sent to protect your dreams, and you fall asleep to his murmured, "I love you"s.

You are John Egbert and things aren't going to be the same ever again.

(The next morning, you get dressed in his clothes and Dave carries you down the stairs because you're too sore to walk. Jane scolds you for having premarital sex. Your Dad bakes a congratulatory cake.)


End file.
